Exquisite Corpse by Me and C Anne Gardner
“A Girl’s Best Friend”
They said diamonds come colored now, purple,
green, blue, colored like clear isn’t enough. And
I wonder about my friends, whose parents,
whose grandparents were called colored
and I wonder what other words
will disappear with enlightenment.
Love is already going the way of anachronism.
The empath is a schizotypal mockery of progress.
The empath is a panty-grubbing rubber-necker.
The girls need their skivvies. The hurt
need their time to heal.
What I mean is, I am tired of hurting for you
I want to rip the bandages off.
I want to lick wounds into silhouettes of
childrens’ faces and day drinking.
I want to bury the hatchet and dig up the body.
Let’s take down the billiards sticks
and call them the spears they are. If
You knew what I conjured
with the sweat and elderflower, you’d run. Mortar,
pestle, and prayer can’t rescue me, can’t defend you.
Tomorrow, we move to the lee of the stone.
Embrace electric light. We will design
anticipated memories and edit our emotions for misgivings.
In the meantime, I will still dangle my wrists
just south of your nutsack, I will talk
with the parts of my face that don’t make sound.
I will make you come again and again
until I show the fuck up, until I extract
the seed of this doubt…
…and the mind will mutate to become a thing of gratitude.
And the forest will sing with my heart
coiled around its longest branches.
High Es. Early freeze.
Restlessness loops in quietly, doesn’t it?
That’s exactly why we reign hard,
as if our throats were lit ends of cigarettes.
You may not know this, but I swear it’s true:
The lion is not a simple creature.
It spits and howls while it makes love.
It cries to be let in while being soaked
by the rain it coveted moments ago.
Who decides the direction of rain?
I am taker, you are tooken.
I cannot see your eyes through all of this stained glass.
Instead, I kneel and bless the aisles.
Bless the hallway. Bless the darkness.
Bless the road.